Sena Is Not A Girl
by hadaka
Summary: Sena is a boy. And he's straight. Totally.
1. Chapter 1

It didn't even _occur_ to Sena to do something for Valentine's Day.

He didn't see why it should have. Valentine's Day was a _girl's_ holiday. And Sena was _not_ a girl, despite what _some_ people who will remain anonymous, let's call them Shingomachimonjikyushira-kojitanirukomatosaki, seemed to think.

However, he _did_ like chocolate. And since he didn't think much of his chances of getting chocolates from any girls other than Mamo-nee this year (...or any year...), when Mamo-nee asked him to come to the Home Ec room to help her and a few of her friends make chocolate, Sena wasn't prepared to say no.

"Just me and a few friends, Sena," said Mamo-nee, smiling. "A couple of us are beginners, though, so we'd appreciate another pair of hands that knows what to do in the kitchen."

Sena felt the sharp, stabbing pain of another blow to his manly pride. He felt it was completely unfair of Mamo-nee to imply what a good wife he was, seeing as how it had been her who had spent all that time teaching him how to bake pastries in elementary. But, hey, _free chocolate_. And people who needed his help! How could he lose? "Sure, Mamo-nee, I have time."

Ten minutes later, he was losing.

These girls. They wouldn't stop _giggling_. Every time he said _Mamo-nee_, they'd giggle. _Senpai_, and they'd giggle. And the touching! Ruffling his hair, rubbing his cheeks, "helping" him with his apron. Offering to taste his chocolate batter (only one managed to offer this with a straight face. The rest dissolved into smothered hysterics), asking _So who are you confessing to, Sena-chan? Is he cute?_, elbowing Mamo-nee in the side and saying in a really loud whisper, _Hey, my brother's really nice and good-looking, we should totally set them up._

"Oh," said Mamo-nee, seeming alarmed. Sena felt a brief surge of gratitude. "Your brother goes to Housen, right? No offense, Tsukimoto-san, but I really don't think they'd suit. Sena needs someone gentle."

"Whaaat? Come on, Anezaki, Masa's a good match! Look at Sena-chan! I know his type. He needs someone nice enough to take care of him but scary enough to chase all the pervs away. Masa-nii is perfect!"

Mamo-nee—looked thoughtful. _Like she was seriously considering it._

Sena scowled down into the bowl he was mixing.

"Look! He's upset!"

"_Kyaaa_, Sena-chan, let Ki-chan comfort you in her arms—"

The only thing that made up for it all was the chocolate. Sena ended up making way too much, as he'd gone through several batches showing the girls, who seemed to be spending more time brushing his hair and putting ribbons and clips and other shiny things in it than actually paying attention, the chocolate-making process. There turned out to be at least thirteen bags too many when it was all over, and the girls didn't want any of it since they had their own batches to wrap.

"All yours, Sena-chan!"

"Sena-chan, please don't get fat!"

"Don't let your boyfriend eat too much, Sena-chan. If he gets fat you'll have to dump him."

"Sena-chaaan." A girl—Tsuki-something-san?—put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll let Masa-nii know you're saving a bag for him, OK?"

"Senpai, that's really not—"

"And if you have a boyfriend, break up with him now." Tsuki-something-san's face became serious. "It's better if it's just his heart that gets broken and not his legs."

Sena backed away slowly.

They cooed and giggled and patted his hair—from which he'd removed all accessories, much to their disappointment—and then Sena threw down his apron and rushed out the door with his thirteen bags of chocolate before Mamo-nee could catch him.

Walking down the hall toward the shoe lockers with thirteen bags of Valentine's chocolates in his arms was weird. Class had long since let out, but there were still some people at school and they all seemed to find the sight of him with all those chocolates really funny. At least, they were all smiling, and one girl called after him, "Go _you_, Sena-chan!"

Seriously. What was _wrong_ with these people?

At the lockers, he met Monta, who'd stayed back for cleaning duties.

"Oh, Se—" Monta blinked at the chocolates Sena was holding. Then he nodded. "Shin's gonna be stoked MAX. You're an awesome girlfriend."

_"Monta."_ Sena tried to look as if he were offended and not as if he were about to cry. "I am not anyone's girlfriend and these are not for Shin-san. They aren't for anyone."

"Yeah?" Monta pulled a face. "Poor Shin. He's gonna be bummed MAX when he doesn't get any."

Sena tried to imagine Shin-san looking _bummed_, MAX or otherwise. He couldn't. "I really don't think he cares who I give chocolates to—_if_ I gave chocolates to _anybody_, which I'm _not_."

"Uh-huh." Since when had Monta learned how to look _skeptical_? "Well, a'right, but when Shin gets mad at you for not givin' him any, don't come cryin' to me."

For the second time in their friendship, Sena felt the urge to hit Monta. In the face. He immediately felt sorry, so instead of yelling _I'm not a girl, Monta!_, Sena sighed and gestured with his arms full of chocolate. "Want some?"

_"No,"_ said Monta, eyes wide and _horrified_.

("No offense, Sena," he explained later. "I mean, I'm flattered and everythin', but Shin's a big guy, you know?")


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** This is **yaoi**. And **crack**.

**Summary:** Sena is a boy. And he's straight. Totally.

* * *

Sena left Deimon alone. He'd been struggling with the chocolates and his locker when Mamo-nee came looking for help with clean-up, and that had been that for Monta. So Sena switched his shoes, stuffed the bags of chocolate into his bag, and departed for home, wanting nothing more than to take a bath and go to bed.

("Do you want to wait for me, Sena?" asked Mamo-nee worriedly.

"Um..." The leering face of Tsuki-something-san flashed through Sena's mind. "No, I—I'm tired, I'll just..."

"LEAVE EVERYTHING TO ME, MAX," shouted Monta, and shoved Sena into a concrete column that turned out to be Ishimaru-senpai.)

He'd almost made it through the front doors when someone said, "Oi, fucking brat."

Sena nearly hit the floor with his face. The door got in the way at the last second.

Hiruma raised an eyebrow down at him.

"Oh..." Sena reflexively glanced around for explosives, traps, or incoming Cerberus. "I...um, yes?" He hoped the look on his face was a politely inquiring _Yes, senpai?_ instead of a totally panicked _Please don't hurt me! _That was _so_ last year.

Hiruma stuck out a hand.

Sena—looked at it.

Thirty seconds passed as Hiruma stood there with his hand out and Sena stood there looking. (For a bomb.)

"Well?" said Hiruma.

Sena blinked, then took another glance at Hiruma's face. By his expression (bored, slightly contemptuous, and casually infernal), Hiruma wasn't mad. He didn't even sound _annoyed_. Much.

"...huh?" answered Sena.

"Fucking brat!" Hiruma's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, the outstretched hand turning into _grasping claws_, and Sena fell back against the closed doors, arms half raised, wide-eyed and about to pass out because after nearly a whole year of restraining himself, Hiruma Yoichi had finally decided to—

Reach into Sena's school bag.

Grope around in it.

And pull out what Sena—with his chocolate-loving eye—immediately recognized as the largest of the bags of chocolate.

"Hn." Hiruma looked down at Sena, chocolate in hand. Sena deeply regretted the pink wrapping and shiny white bow.

Was that the hint of a smile on Hiruma's lips?

"I...but..." This wasn't the time for Sena's speech centers to shut down. "But, you...I thought...you didn't...I mean, you _hate_...sweets..."

Hiruma's eyebrow lifted slightly higher.

"I do," he said. Nonchalantly.

And then Hiruma turned, chocolate in one hand, his own schoolbag in the other, and walked away.

Sena, watching him go, felt a curious sensation of both _barely_ escaping catastrophe and _just_ missing out on something wonderful.

(Which was sort of a familiar feeling with Hiruma, he'd reflect later.)

"But that was my chocolate," he said, in a tone that sounded even to him kind of like a kicked puppy.

Distracted by the impending missing person report, Sena hadn't noticed the other people in the corridor. Now, he became aware of hushed cheering.

"You go, Sena!" several girls by the shoe lockers whispered at him. They kept a wary eye on the direction Hiruma had departed in. "It's all you, baby!"

"Keep it up, Sena," urged several boys hiding behind a wastebasket. Weren't they student council members? "Blackmail incidents are down twenty-six percent! Good job!"

"Don't put out too quickly, Sena," a girl leaning out of the nearby restroom told him. "You don't want him to start taking you for granted."

"But don't take too long, either," added a kendo club member behind a plant. "If he gets really frustrated, he might revert."

"Be a tease," another girl leaning out of a science classroom told him, something urgent to her voice. "Be the goddamn second season finale of _The Office_."

"You're our only hope, Sena-chan," said another boy from a broom closet. "For our sakes, please sacrifice your body and seduce the evil out of that devil! Our lives are in your virginal hands!"

_"I am not gay,"_ cried Sena. _"And I need an adult."_

Down the hall, the door to the teachers' lounge slid open. Sena could have wept with relief.

"Tame that beast, Sena-chan!" called a teacher—Watanabe-sensei?!—leaning out of the lounge. "Funding appropriation is down forty percent! We're counting on you!"

Sena hit the front doors like Maualuga hitting the ball carrier in the fourth of a tied game.

"There's something wrong," he whimpered to himself as he hurried away from the main building, missing one bag of chocolate. "There's something _so wrong_—"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** This is **yaoi**. And **crack**.

**Summary:** Sena is a boy. And he's straight. Totally.

* * *

Busy panicking, Sena didn't watch where he was going. He nearly got trampled by passing track team members (from whom he then had to run), knocked over a bicycle (that actually had Ishimaru on it at the time), and had to move fast to avoid the tennis team's full-on pursuit (which...wasn't that hard, actually, they _really_ needed to step up their training or they weren't even going to make it to the regionals). He didn't even notice who was leaning against the school gate, bag over his shoulder, unusually by himself—didn't even notice who was straightening up and stepping right in the way, a strange expression part anxiety, part determination on his face—

Sena didn't notice anything until he ran into a wall.

_"Hiii."_

"Sena?"

A wall named Jyuumonji.

"Jyuumonji!" Sena recoiled slightly, instantly regressing six months, and peered cautiously—_fearfully_—up at Jyuumonji.

Who looked at him like he was nuts. "What's wrong _now_?"

Sena was so relieved he could have cried. "N-nothing. Nothing's wrong, just..." He looked back the way he had come, knuckles whitening where he gripped his bag. "It's just, Hiruma's acting really _weird_, and..."

Jyuumonji didn't say anything. Sena turned to face him again, eager to explain that everyone at Deimon had gone unhinged and it was probably Hiruma's fault.

Jyuumonji's face was pink.

Sena—stared.

They stood there, Jyuumonji with his pink cheeks and Sena with no idea what was happening.

"I, uh..." Jyuumonji rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I, ah, I guess you were making chocolate today..."

Sena blinked.

"Um," he said, nonplussed, "I...I was helping Mamo-nee...and..."

Jyuumonji's determined expression was quickly giving way to something sickly and nauseous that hung somewhere between humiliation and suicide. "Oh. Yeah. Well. I just—I wasn't—"

("Oh, _God_," came a muffled voice from behind the wall.

"Fucking _tard_," muttered a second.)

Jyuumonji looked down, blushing and—

Sena's eyes went wide.

Jyuumonji Kazuki was _biting his lip_.

For some reason (probably either the terror or the adrenaline rush from the terror), Sena's knees were weak. He had never seen this side of Jyuumonji before. A side that was all flustered and embarrassed and blushing, that was more shy jock than angry juvie bait. The tall, scarred Jyuumonji, whose register on the fear index at Deimon High School was second only to Hiruma—scuffing his feet like a boy and stammering.

Something felt light and breathless in Sena's chest.

"I mean," Jyuumonji was still struggling, "not...you know...uh..."

He stopped talking so abruptly that his lower jaw just kind of hung.

Sena didn't realize the chocolate was in his hand until it was. Then he was just standing there holding it while Jyuumonji gaped at him, which was pointless, so it seemed to him that the only thing to do was hold it out.

To Jyuumonji.

Who stared. Open-mouthed.

"Uh..." Sena's face felt warm. Was he feverish? "I...I made too much. That's...all. I mean. If—if you want..."

Jyuumonji—didn't say anything.

("He's just _standing_ there," said that first voice. "Like an _asshole_."

"Let's throw something at him," replied the second.)

_He's going to stick me headfirst in the trash bin,_ it occurred to Sena, and he was just hastily pulling his hand back when Jyuumonji grabbed his wrist.

"OKAY," shouted Jyuumonji. For no reason.

Sena felt a stupid urge to giggle. Or _flee_.

"Uh." Jyuumonji's mouth closed and opened. "I mean, _yeah_. OK. If—if you made too much..."

Mid-sentence, he seemed to realize that he was still holding Sena's wrist, because he snatched his hand back as if from Cerberus's open jaws.

And then reached for the chocolate, taking it in one, easy motion, like Sena had passed him a football.

"Thanks," said Jyuumonji, almost casually.

Sena tried to think of something to say, other than _Didn't you use to beat me up after school every Friday? _"You're welcome?"

"Yeah," muttered Jyuumonji, not looking at him. He was frowning at the chocolate, the same frown he usually wore when working out a particularly complex mathematical equation.

_Do you even remember middle school?_ Sena wanted to ask, but didn't, just in case Jyuumonji really had forgotten about the whole kicking Sena's ass for no reason thing.

An awkward pause. Jyuumonji frowned at the chocolate, looked at Sena, and then pinked again. Looked away, to one side. Looked at the ground. Looked at the sky. Looked at a stray cat.

Turned away.

Turned _back, with the most serious and urgent expression._

Opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Blushed.

Turned.

And walked away.

Sena stood there. He watched Jyuumonji take the corner of the gate, disappearing around the wall. He heard, from that direction, Toganou's voice, commenting _Smooth._, and Kuroki's voice, saying, _You knock him down and take it from his bag, too, Genji?_, and then the distinct and familiar sound of two people getting their heads cracked together.

Sena waited a few minutes, and then he also went out the gates—in the opposite direction.

He _wasn't blushing_. Absolutely _not_.

"Nothing much," he muttered to himself as he walked, now minus two bags of chocolate. "Nothing much. No, Mom, nothing much happened at school today..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** This is **yaoi**. And **crack**.

**Summary:** Sena is a boy. And he's straight. Totally.

* * *

It seemed obvious to Sena that something was wrong with the water at Deimon. (And he _knew_ who'd be responsible for that, and it _wasn't_ the Ministry of Health, Labor, and Welfare.) Everyone was being so—Sena couldn't think of a good term for it. _Insane,_ maybe. Except Jyuumonji had seemed less insane and more anxious, and Hiruma—who could tell with Hiruma? Though when it came to people who could possibly want chocolate from Sena on Valentine's Day, he would never in a thousand years have guessed Jyuumonji and _Hiruma_—

"OK, _no_," said Sena, out loud. A passing salaryman in a loosened tie gave him a wary glance. "That's _not_ what happened."

No. It definitely wasn't! They—they had just obviously heard that Sena had been helping Mamo-nee and her friends make chocolate, and they had accurately guessed that he would not come out empty-handed, and _obviously_ Hiruma had an unexpected craving and Jyuumonji—Jyuumonji was (had been?) a bully of Sena's, and he was _obviously_ used to taking things from Sena, and why not chocolate, if Sena _happened_ to have it and Jyuumonji _happened_ to want it—

"Coincidence," said Sena firmly, a little desperately, as he passed a convenience store, and two middle school boys who'd been walking in front of him stopped to turn and stare. "Just a coincidence."

"What is?"

Sena walked right into a stack of wooden crates and would have gone down in a pile of splinters if a hand hadn't caught his arm.

"I'm not really _like_ this," Sena whimpered.

Someone _hn_ed under his breath, as if he would laugh if he weren't such a _man_.

Sena looked up.

Musashi was smiling crookedly down at him. He was dressed for work, the bandana tied securely over his head, and in one hand he had a plastic bag of what looked like five or six Pocari.

"You walked right by me," said Musashi, answering Sena's question even as he opened his mouth to ask it.

"Uh." Sena felt his cheeks going pink. "Oh."

Musashi was still holding his arm. Sena had barely realized this when one of the middle school boys from earlier yelled from ahead of them, "Oi, old man, you shouldn't hit on high school girls!"

"But I'm OK with older women, neechan," shouted the other one.

Sena could have passed out from all the blood rushing to his face. "_I am not a girl!"_ he yelled back, and wished that had come out more manfully angry and less pitifully defensive.

"Yeah, OK, neechan! Whatever you want!"

"Prove it, burikko!"

Musashi shifting gears to stern was sort of like having someone switch on the gravity for the first time. "That's enough."

Sena watched the boys beat a hasty retreat with both desperate envy and a new low in self esteem. Eyeshield 21, MVP of the Kanto Tournament, starting running back for Team Japan, and _middle schoolers_ were picking on him. Without thinking, he said, "You're so manly, Musashi-san."

Because that wasn't gay at all.

He could _feel_ Musashi raise an eyebrow.

"I—I mean," Sena stammered, and blurted, "I mean, you—it's just—I wish—I wish I were more like you."

Sena had never meant to tell anyone that. He was sort of embarrassed about it, that the first thing he'd ever thought on seeing Musashi—not Musashi back then, but just the foreman—had been _Why couldn't I have been more like that?_ Because no one picked on people who looked like Musashi. No one even imagined locking Musashi into bathrooms, throwing away Musashi's shoes, or ordering Musashi to go buy them bread. Not Musashi—with his tall, compact form, his long, level stare. People respected Musashi. Liked Musashi. Wanted to be liked by Musashi.

Musashi probably got _so much chocolate_ on Valentine's.

"I don't know," said Musashi, and the hand left Sena's arm. "I like you the way you are."

Sena—_did not_ blink.

"The way I am?" he repeated, and looked at Musashi.

Who was looking at something on the ground, one eyebrow raised. Sena followed his eyes.

To the pink-wrapped, white-ribboned bag of chocolate on the ground.

For a long, silent moment, they both stood there, staring at the wrapped chocolates lying on the ground.

Somewhere in a small, isolated corner of his brain, Sena decided he would have preferred to just die on the Death March last year after all.

"That," he gasped, "that—not—I mean—it's—don't—I—not—_girl_—"

The last shreds of his dignity were blowing in the wind. How had that thing gotten out of his bag? And _why_ did it have to happen in front of Musashi? Musashi, who was the very ideal of manhood to Sena. Musashi, who could swap his hard hat for a topknot and two swords and have it be completely appropriate. Musashi, who was everything Sena wanted to be, who was—

—picking up the chocolate.

_"__No—"_ Sena held up his hands, to either surrender or start cutting. "I—no—it's not—you don't understand—"

Musashi straightened up. Sena lunged for the chocolates, willing to be rude if it meant getting that stupid, _stupid _thing away from—

Musashi raised it over his head.

Sena's hands followed the chocolates automatically, and then he found himself apparently flashing back to third grade when taller kids would play Keep Away with his bento. Only now it wasn't Takefumi-kun holding his bento over his head—it was Musashi holding a pink and white bag of chocolate that Sena had labored to make in Home Ec on Valentine's Day.

Sena stood there, arms over his head, looking up at Musashi. That same small, isolated corner of his brain demanded to know since _when_ had Musashi been so _stupidly_ tall.

Musashi looked down at him.

"I think I'll keep this," said Musashi, and then the chocolate was disappearing into a pocket.

Sena—stood there, arms raised, mind a complete blank. Musashi seemed to eye him for a minute, and then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

Then he leaned.

Right down.

Into Sena's _face_.

"Go straight home, Sena," he said. His voice was low and—somehow _gentler_ than usual, and it occurred to Sena that, to anyone looking, it looked an awful lot like he was about to put his arms around Musashi's neck. "And don't talk to strangers."

When Musashi pulled away, Sena realized he was holding his breath.

And his arms. Still in the air.

Sena didn't see Musashi walk away. He didn't know whether Musashi went up the street or down, whether he looked back or not. All he knew was that he had now had _three_ bags of chocolate taken from him, his face was so flushed that his cheeks hurt, and his arms didn't seem to want to come down. It was only when he heard a passing toddler asking his mother, _"Oneechan want up?"_ that Sena turned as red as the Deimon amefuto team's uniforms and slammed his arms back down by his sides.

He didn't know _why_ he was blushing so much.

"Why doesn't anyone just _ask_?" he whimpered.


End file.
